Bobby asked, “Did you get the sketch pad?”
“Oh—yes!” Gina rustled around in the first bin and produced two sketch pads. “Plus, graphite and watercolor pencils.” She looked doubtfully at Stella. “I hope that’s okay...”
“It’s wonderful. Truly.” Thanks to Gina and Patrice, she had enough raw materials to keep herself occupied whilst they waited for test results. Anything to keep her mind from dwelling on what would happen when they talked to her father and his.
“Great job, girls.” There Bobby was again, being smooth.
“If there’s something else, just call us! Girls’ day out,” Gina said, waggling her eyebrows.
“Will do.” Suddenly, the feeling that had been claustrophobia turned sharply into sheer exhaustion. She had an irrational desire to have Callie’s sleeping body nestled back in her arms so the two of them could doze away the afternoon together.
Soon, she promised herself. Soon she’d have her own baby, her own snuggles.
She managed to stand. Bobby’s hand did not fall away from her. Instead, he stepped around the sofa and pulled her back into his arms. So easy. So comfortable. Without thinking, she rested her head on his shoulder. She couldn’t ask for Callie back, but there was nothing to say she couldn’t ask Bobby to take her home and lie down with her. She’d like to sleep in his arms, knowing he’d be there when she woke up. And then to feel his body against hers, in hers...Yes. That would be quite lovely.
Then she realized that everyone was watching them—his arm around her waist, her head on his shoulder. She and Bobby had done those things without thinking. Everyone else looked as if they were trying to read a fortune in tea leaves.
“Tired?” Bobby whispered, although she didn’t doubt that everyone was straining to catch his every word.
“Yes.”
“Can you handle the elevator back down or should we do the stairs? It’s five flights.”
The stairs? Good heavens, in her current state, she wasn’t sure she could traverse that many steps without missing one. “We can try the lift.”
“It was such a pleasure to meet you,” Josey said, giving Stella an awkward side hug so as not to crush the baby. “Call me for anything. I’m home most days.”
“Same here!” Gina offered with a perfectly polite handshake. “We can come to you, you can come to us—whatever works!”
Even Ben extended his hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Caine.” He looked as if he was chewing on glass, but Stella appreciated that he managed to say it without growling at her. This must be him trying to keep the peace.
“The same. And your daughter is so beautiful.” Ah, that worked. Ben’s face softened. He could be handsome when he wasn’t terrifying. Not the kind of handsome that set her body to singing—not handsome like Bobby—but still, she could appreciate the Bolton genetics.
Gina, Patrice and Bobby loaded the totes back into the lift while Stella traversed all the way back to the loo. By the time she got up front again, everyone was all smiles. She couldn’t tell if they were faking it or not.
“Ginger ale for the ride home,” Josey said, handing a to-go cup to Bobby. “Call me if you have questions about anything.” The way she said it made it clear that included not only pregnancy and babies, but Boltons, as well.
“Thanks so much.” Stella entered the lift and sat down on one of the tubs.
Bobby stood behind her, bracing her with his legs. “The ride up was rough,” he explained as the women shut the door.
“We’ll go all the way down,” Gina said as the lift lurched. “Just focus on breathing!”
“Will do.”
Going down was much better than going up. Bobby rubbed her shoulders while she kept her head close to her knees.
Her mobile rang as they came to a lurching stop. She answered. “Hello, Mickey.”
“Where are you at, lass? I thought the whole point of staying at his flat was that you would be at his flat.”
Bobby opened the car door for her. “We’ll get the stuff loaded—ask him to dinner.”
She nodded. “Bobby took me to meet his brother’s family. We’re heading home now. Come round for dinner tonight.”
“Took you to meet his own, did he?”
“He did. They’re...interesting. He also had some friends get me sewing supplies so I could work.”
“Is that so.” It wasn’t so much a question as a wonderment. Perhaps Bobby’s actions were still too smooth, too charming, but at some point, sheer thoughtfulness had to outweigh that.
Because that’s what Bobby was doing. Being thoughtful.
She checked the time. It was almost four and she needed to sleep for at least an hour. “Come to dinner and I’ll tell you all about it.” That was normal for them. They ate dinner together at least two nights a week. She’d tell him about her designs and he’d keep her up-to-date on what her father was doing. “Shall we say around seven?”
“Yeah, okay. You taking care of yourself, lass?”
She grinned. “About to go home and rest a bit. We’ll see you at seven.”
The trunk of the car shut as she ended the call, then Bobby slid back into the driver’s seat. “Everything okay?”
“Just tired.”
He started the car, but instead of pulling away, he leaned over. His fingers traced a path down her cheek. “You did an amazing job, beautiful.”
“You think?”
“I don’t think, I know. Come on,” he added, finally putting the car into Drive. “Let’s get you home.”
Home. She was quite tired and hormonally messy, but it was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her.
Ten
Bobby was worried.
Stella had fallen asleep. He wanted to get her back to his apartment as fast as he could, but he was afraid to go even five miles over the speed limit. He found himself thinking murderous thoughts at people who were speeding or texting. If they hit him and anything happened to Stella...
So he putted along at a glacial speed, obeying all traffic laws and driving defensively. But his mind? That raced.
What if Ben was right? What if Caine already knew about this? What if he had been behind it? What if he wanted out of the deal? What if he was using Stella?
What if it was all a trap?
Bobby couldn’t get his head around that. Ben’s job was to work all the angles, run the worst-case scenario. He was good at it. He’d saved the company a few times because he’d been prepared for the worst.
But that wasn’t Bobby’s job. Whether his brothers liked it or not, he always saw the good in people. He figured out what they wanted and how he could give it to them.
Billy knew bikes. Ben knew numbers. But Bobby knew people. Even if there was some outside chance that he was being set up, he didn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe that Stella would allow herself to be used in such a way.
Besides, Ben hadn’t been at the club. Bobby had. He had been the one to approach her, not the other way around.
So Ben was wrong about Stella and her motives and Bobby was right. Great. This still left him with a hell of a problem—a problem that went far beyond David Caine and the deal with FreeFall TV.
He needed to marry Stella and she was in no particular hurry to marry him.
So she had agreed to stay with him for a few weeks. Sooner or later, Stella would walk away from him—again—because she thought it was best. He would probably lose his deal after David Caine got done dragging his name through the courts. He’d have no resort, a child who lived two time zones away and...
And he wouldn’t have Stella.
He wouldn’t have anything.
This wasn’t like him. Why did he care so much whether she stayed or went?
He pulled into the parking garage
and looked at Stella. Her chest rose and fell in even breaths, her mouth open just a bit. She looked completely vulnerable.
She hadn’t taken him to her car because it would look good in the morning paper or because the exposure would grow her name recognition in fashion circles. He hadn’t been a commodity to her. She’d chosen him because she liked him. Because he’d noticed her.
He hadn’t known who she was. The more he thought about it...instead of working the room and finding the biggest name, he’d done something completely out of character. He’d spent the evening with a woman who had nothing to offer him.
Except herself.
Then it hit him. Yeah, he needed to marry her. The list of reasons was long. The baby needed to be a Bolton in both name and blood. It would make dealing with David Caine and that damn morals clause a hell of a lot easier. It might even save his resort—his dream.
All of those were rock-solid reasons he needed to marry her.
But he also wanted to marry her—to know for sure that she’d be in his bed every night, in his arms every morning. To know she’d be waiting for him at the end of the day so they could eat dinner together and talk. To see what she’d designed that day.
To see her nursing their baby, then rocking that baby to sleep.
Oh, hell.
He pushed those thoughts back—not because they scared him. Hell no, that wasn’t it. Not even close. More like he’d gotten very little sleep last night. The whole situation was high stress. He needed to stop overthinking and focus on one thing at a time. The first priority was getting her to bed.
His pulse stirred at the thought. But Ben was right. He needed to keep his zipper zipped. Just because he’d broken the morals clause a couple of times didn’t mean he could keep breaking it.
Unless she married him.
Which she didn’t want to.
Which brought him right back to square one.
Okay, she was off-limits. He could exhibit a little self-restraint, no problem. He’d get her upstairs, tuck her in and do a little work before he cooked dinner.
But he didn’t remember that plan including leaning over and pressing his lips against hers, or feeling her stir beneath him. And he was damn sure that he didn’t plan on her sleepily looping her arms around his neck and humming into him.
He pulled away. He wasn’t having sex in a car with her again. That was final.
“We’re home,” he said in a low tone as he stroked her cheek.
“Oh.” She blinked at him, looking a whole lot more kissable. “Did I nod off?”
“Yeah. Let’s get you upstairs.”
He forced himself to remove her arms from his neck and open his car door. He unloaded the totes and the wheeled case with the sewing machine in it.
“I’ll take that,” she offered. As she said it, she stretched up, arms over her head, body long and lean.
The plan—he had to focus on that. He could think deep thoughts when he’d had more sleep or more beer—or both. Right now, he needed to get her upstairs. She probably wanted to go back to bed.
His mind immediately flipped over to the image of her tangled up in his sheets this morning, the camisole slipping down over her breasts, her body spread wide for his.
Desire shot through him. Even the way she wrapped her fingers around the handle of the sewing machine case sent a physical ache through him.
Maybe he should have let Ben punch him—anything to knock some sense into his stupid head. She was going to bed alone. As in, without him.
He grabbed the totes and hefted them to the elevator. Stella was already there, holding the door for him, seemingly unaware of how much Bobby was struggling to remain a gentleman.
For her comfort, he pulled her into a hug in the elevator. Only because he didn’t want her to get unsettled the way she had last time. Yeah, right.
Working together, they got the two totes into the apartment. Once the door was shut, he said, “You still want to lie down?”
“A nap would be lovely,” she said with a yawn. “Sorry,” she added, her hand over her mouth.
Without another word, she walked back to the bedroom. It took almost every last ounce of willpower not to follow her down the hall. Instead, Bobby forced himself to make some coffee—extra strong—and turn on his laptop. He had to prove to Ben that he could make this right. And, most important, he had to keep his hands off her. She wasn’t interested in anything but a friendly coparenting relationship. He needed to start honoring those wishes. Somehow.
He got a cup of coffee and sat down. Ben had that meeting on Monday with the bankers. This was an obligation that Bobby had to meet. And he’d signed that contract with the extensive morals clause. That was another obligation he had to honor. And he would. He was a businessman, damn it. A beautiful, pregnant woman sleeping thirty feet away didn’t change that. He opened his file and started working.
“Bobby?”
At the sound of her voice, he froze. “Yes?”
He heard her clear her throat. “I thought you might, you know, join me for a nap.”
Why was she torturing him? She’d already refused his proposal. Twice. How did she expect him to lie in bed and hold her and not make love to her—not ask her to stay with him for so much more than a few weeks? He couldn’t hold her and not think about the way her body unleashed all that sexual energy on him—how she made him want to push harder, be better.
Couldn’t she see that he was trying to honor her wishes—and the contract he’d signed? That he was trying to do the right thing here, for crying out loud?
He should not look at her, because if he looked into those pale, huge eyes—eyes hoping that he’d do exactly what he wanted and follow her back into the bedroom—well, he just might do it. And prove Ben right—he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
So he did something that hurt. He closed his eyes and refused to turn his head in her direction. It was the only way he could trust himself not to take things further.
“I have to get these numbers crunched.”
It was the cruelest thing he’d ever said and he knew it.
She knew it, too. “Oh, right. Sorry to bother you.”
The words—spoken slowly and quietly—sliced through the air and into his back. It was nothing less than he deserved.
The next thing he knew, he was out of the chair and covering the distance between them in long strides. She’d lost the chunky sweater and stood in bare feet, leggings and a tank top. He was right—he shouldn’t have looked at her, because there was no way he could resist her. He wasn’t sure why he’d even tried.
She was in the process of turning away from him in disappointment, when he caught her in his arms.
“Oh!” she got out in a little gasp as he pulled her against his chest. He didn’t even kiss her. He didn’t have to. He just had to be there for her. That was all.
That was everything.
He half pushed, half lifted her in the direction of the bedroom.
“I have things to do,” he told her, his voice rougher than he wanted it to be. “I have legal obligations that have to be met.” Legal obligations he was actively breaking, just because he could not say no to her. “I can’t let my family down.”
But he was. He tried to tell himself it was because she needed him more than his brothers or the business did—but it wasn’t the truth.
He needed her more than he needed the business.
“I know.” She sounded confused—as if she’d expected him to say just that, but not while he was holding her. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” They reached the bed. He pushed her down onto it, then stripped off his button-down shirt, removed his belt and kicked off his shoes. Maybe if he kept his T-shirt and pants on, he’d keep his zipper zipped. But that was a hell of a maybe and he knew it
. “Tomorrow, I’ll work and you’ll sew. Deal?”
She sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes, as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Deal,” she finally said, a small smile curving up the corner of her mouth.
It wasn’t that hard, was it? To give her what she wanted? Just a nap—an hour of sleep that he needed, anyway. He’d think clearer when he woke up.
She slid her feet under the comforter and scooted over, making room for him. He climbed in and pulled the covers up over both of them.
Stella was too far away. Damn it all, if he was going to skip work and lie down with her and run the risk of violating his morals clause again then he was going to hold her, by God.
Without asking, he slipped his arm under her shoulders and pulled her to him. “There,” he said, settling his head back on his pillow—the one that now smelled of lavender. Of her. This whole situation—all of it—drove him crazy. Why did she have to be so beautiful, so impossibly sweet? Why did she have to make him want her so bad—and why couldn’t he make her want him the same way?
“Happy?”
At first, she didn’t bend then she nestled in his arm and placed her hand over his heart. “Yes. You?”
Everything was screwed up and for once he didn’t seem to be able to talk his way out of it. But as he felt her body settle around his, felt her heartbeat against his chest...
“Yes,” he told her as he laced his fingers with hers and held her tight.
And the hell of it was, he meant it.
* * *
The mobile rang.
Stella heard it on some level, but she was too comfortable to care. She couldn’t remember feeling happier as she drifted in the space between awake and asleep. Bobby was here, his solid chest rising gently against her cheek, so she ignored the phone. The world could wait a little longer.
Her mobile rang again. This time, the ring tone sank in. She sat bolt upright in bed, dread curdling in her belly.
That was the tone for her father.
“Wha...” Bobby groaned as she leaned across his chest to snatch her mobile off the side table.
Expecting a Bolton Baby Page 11
